


Broken Wing

by Tish



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (TV)
Genre: Cabin Fic, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-17
Updated: 2016-12-17
Packaged: 2018-09-09 06:21:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,303
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8879329
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tish/pseuds/Tish
Summary: Escaping by the skin of their teeth leads Napoleon and Illya to more danger, i.e., just another Tuesday.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [selyndae](https://archiveofourown.org/users/selyndae/gifts).



Napoleon scanned the darkening sky, a frown settling upon his face as he watched a dangerously threatening squall line converge on the low clouds that hung over the remote THRUSH outpost. He turned his attention back to covering Illya as he dashed out to remove the chocks from the plane's tires, then followed as his partner climbed into the tiny cockpit.

Napoleon turned as best he could, keeping watch. “So far, so good. No nasty birds to tangle with our escape.”

“Just give me 30 seconds and we shall be away and on the way to some dinner,” Illya muttered as he started the engine.

“Good thing all the birds have flown south for the winter, a shish kabobed goose might be a bit too rich for my blood,” Napoleon replied as the propeller spluttered into life.

Within moments they were climbing into the sky, banking away from the installation and behind an outcrop of the mountainside. Napoleon had a glimpse of two THRUSH mooks running towards them, rifles ready to fire. 

He smiled with relief, quickly sobering as he saw how close the approaching bad weather was. “Any chance we can outrun that?” 

“I don't want to go over that rising terrain, there's less margin for error, especially as it gets darker. I'll try and avoid the worst of it, but it'll get rough,” Illya's voice was tense but determined.

Napoleon nodded silently and searched below them for any roads or open ground, just in case they needed to land. The solid mass of forest didn't inspire confidence, but with nothing else to do he scanned the area.

 

All too soon, the plane was buffeted by strong gusts of wind and Illya changed course slightly. Napoleon watched the rain splatter against the windows and pushed a hand against the cabin ceiling, trying to brace himself against the down-drafts.

Illya glanced over. “I have never appreciated economy class more than now.”

Napoleon half-smiled. “The height of luxury.” 

As the wind changed direction, driving rain pounded the window, reducing visibility further. Napoleon noticed something dislodge and swing down from under the control panel and reached out for it. “Maintenance tag,” Napoleon squinted in the dim lighting to read it. “Now, that is not good.”

“Oh, don't tell me-,” Illya scanned the instruments, just as the engine gave an ominous wheeze and the propeller slowed, gained speed, then stopped.

“The engine,” Napoleon sighed as Illya tried to restart it.

“We can glide down, as long as there's somewhere to land,” Illya said quietly, checking their altitude and looking out the side widow,

“There. Looks like a lake,” Napoleon said, as he pointed to his side.

“At least that's flat,” Illya replied, peering over Napoleon's shoulder as he gently turned the plane. “If there's room enough, I'll try to land on the shore, but it'll still be a rough landing.”

“Do what you need to do,” Napoleon nodded.

 

As the plane slowly lost height, the dull shine of the lake spread out before them, barely visible as the rain pelted the windscreen. Napoleon watched the dark forms of trees below them, disturbingly close as the plane shuddered against the punishing wind. 

For a moment Napoleon felt an eerie calm, then the world exploded around them. A howling wind, a stomach-lurching dive, a screeching metallic sound, and the scent of pine needles filled the cabin. Cold air pooled around the floor of the plane as Napoleon slowly became aware of the pain in his leg. Illya struggled to keep the plane level, but there was another thump and wrenching sound as part of a wing sheared off, almost turning them around. Then they were clear of the trees, but plunging fast and steep.

Napoleon gasped and struggled not to black out as Illya put one arm across his body, bracing him as the plane slapped across the water.

Napoleon struggled to focus as something dark loomed up ahead and the plane slammed to a stop and Illya's urgent voice was in his ear. He shook his head to clear his mind, opened the door and flopped like a fish onto a jetty. Quickly rolling clear as the jagged metal of the wing sliced by him, he turned to see the plane lurch over and slide into the water.

“Illya!” Napoleon yelled into the rain as the plane rapidly sank. Ignoring the growing pain in his wounded leg, he pulled himself to the edge and tried to see where the plane had gone. 

 

As Napoleon had tumbled out of the cockpit, Illya started to follow, but fell back as the plane lurched over, arms flailing out to find something to grab onto as the plane sank below the water. He just had time to take a deep breath before the plane disappeared into the dark, cold water. His feet found purchase against a wall and his outstretched hand felt for the door frame, grabbing hold with all his strength when he found it. Blindly he pushed up and out into the murky water, propelling himself up until he broke the surface. As he choked and took a deep breath, Napoleon's voice reached him and he turned with relief. 

“Napoleon!” Illya waved an arm, then started to swim back to the jetty.

Napoleon reached out a hand as Illya reached him. “I thought I'd lost you for a minute, there.”

Illya pulled himself up and lay down on the decking beside Napoleon, heaving deep breaths. “Oh, it's good to get out of the wet.”

Napoleon held up a hand to the pouring rain and laughed for a moment, before turning serious,“Illya, I think I'll need some help getting up. That tree we hit got me.” He fell silent and winced as he felt along his leg.

Illya immediately sat up and checked the leg, then looked to the shore. “There's a cabin, we'll get inside and I can see just how bad it is. Come on.”

Napoleon let Illya slide an arm around his chest and pushed up with his good leg, then he hobbled down the jetty. The pebbled shore crunched underfoot under the sound of the rain as they made for the cabin.

Under cover of the porch, Illya took a flash-light from inside his jacket, brushed his wet hair from his eyes and moved a shutter from a window to peer inside. The cabin was dark, cold, and empty. He looked at the door and then at Napoleon.

“Well, there's no reason to suppose it's a THRUSH hideout, we're quite some distance from their lair,” Napoleon mused as he tried the door handle.

“Locked,” muttered Illya as he fished around for a lock-picking tool.

“Don't want bears wandering in, do we now?” Napoleon answered.

“I just hope they left a bowl of porridge for us,” Illya said as he opened the door.

“Looks just right,” Napoleon smiled as Illya slipped an arm around him to help him inside.

 

As Napoleon settled onto the bed, Illya locked the door and picked up the lantern hanging by it, set it on the table and lit it, a gentle orange glow filling the room. He pulled off his soaked jacket and pulled out a small first-aid kit from the inner pocket lining.

Napoleon picked up a bottle of whiskey from the floor and took a swig before Illya appropriated it to swab out Napoleon's wound. Napoleon hissed slightly, taking back the bottle as he huddled with a blanket around him. 

“I'll boil some water, flush it out thoroughly,” Illya said as he put a log in the pot-bellied stove. Soon the room brightened, some warmth flooding the room.

Illya crossed to the window and opened it slightly, locking the banging shutter in place. “We'll be here for the night, I just hope the worst of this weather passes quickly, Napoleon.”

With the water boiling, Illya prepared to dress his wound. Napoleon carefully shrugged out of his jacket, then placed his gun and communicator on the small bookshelf next to the bed. He leaned back and watched Illya gently tend to his leg.

“Asclepius,” Napoleon murmured, closing his eyes.

“Alas, I have no staff or snake that entwines it,” Illya replied as he readied a small syringe. “You'll feel a small prick.”

As Napoleon shook with laughter, Illya shook his head. “Really, Napoleon,” he chided.

Napoleon took another drink from the bottle and grinned, “Illya, I'm not the one making the innuendos.”

“You'll be out the window if you keep this up all night,” Illya began, groaning as Napoleon started laughing. “Yes, I know. Up all night. Very amusing.”

“You need to get drunk and it'll be funnier. Also, get out of those clothes, you look like a drowned cat,” Napoleon pointed out.

“I need to have some dinner, then call for help,” Illya pulled the blanket over Napoleon, his tone softening as he added, “then we might have some fun.”

“Ah yes, I'm sure you have some fascinating data on ice floes with which to entertain us,” Napoleon replied, tipping the bottle again.

Illya leaned forward, his face impassive, “Russian or Alaskan ice floes?” As Napoleon laughed, Illya quickly kissed him. “Now, food.”

“Cannibalism, eh? Trapped in a cabin for fifteen minutes and I'm already on the menu?” Napoleon asked innocently.

Illya had already turned to the shelf near the stove, rummaging among the tins. “Beef or chicken soup?”

“Either, I'm easy,” Napoleon replied.

“Yes, that's what the girls in Cryptography say about you, “ Illya looked back with a smile as he prepared the soup.

As the warmth of the stove filled the cabin, Napoleon watched Illya peel off his still wet jacket and drape it over the wooden chair. He appreciated the way Illya's shirt stuck to his skin, translucent enough to see the way his back arched. He turned his attention to Illya's pants and how closely they clung to his thighs, then raised the bottle to Illya's back in silent thanks.

 

As they ate, the rained still pelted down, and the wind seemed like a long, low moan as it raced across the lake, changing to a dull roar as it hit the treetops. Napoleon was glad to not have spend any more time in that foul weather. He looked up from the soup tin nestled in a towel and smiled over at Illya. “One bowl, one spoon, one coffee mug, one bed.”

Illya smiled back from his soup, “I shall sleep in the chair, the mug we can share.”

“Plenty of room here, “ Napoleon replied.

“You're injured, I don't want to squash you in bed,” Illya said sternly.

“I'll be fine, shared body heat is a basic survival tactic,” Napoleon pointed out.

Illya smiled, conceding defeat and picked up his communicator. “Open Channel D. Come in, please.”

Napoleon shot him a worried glance as static came from the communicator.

Illya shrugged. “There might be some water damage, or possibly atmospheric interference,” he started to dismantle the pen-like device and carefully set the components on the table, examining each part.

Napoleon spoke into his communicator, with the same result. “They're supposed to be rain resistant, aren't they?”

Illya took the communicator and carefully examined it. “Well, we can check again in a few hours. No getting out of here until the weather clears, anyway.”

As Illya cleared away the dinner, Napoleon eased back across the single bed, wincing back as a dull pain throbbed in his leg. He patted the spot beside him and waited until Illya had carefully slipped in beside him, wrapping the blankets over them both.

“Now, those ice floes,” he started.

“Indeed,” Illya replied. “They freeze all winter, then suddenly in spring, they thaw out.”

“Sounds very technical,” Napoleon mused, resting his head against Illya's shoulder.

“Very. Scientists study them for decades to unlock their secrets,” Illya nodded, voice full of mystery. “Some float by themselves, some jam together to create a dam. Others create a fast moving ice stream, lubricated by water.”

“Oh yes. Lubrication is essential,” Napoleon nuzzled at Illya's neck.

“Essential, but non-existent here, and very ill-advised, given your physical state,” Illya said gently. “Nevertheless, a good scientist can frame an experiment in a different way.”

“You going to write me up in a report?”

“Mmm, yes,” Illya slid his hand down Napoleon's body as he shifted slightly to kiss him.

Napoleon nodded. “Of course, you'll need to perform the experiment several times to get the right data samples.” 

“You're in good hands,” Illya breathed as he grasped Napoleon's cock.

“Feels like it,” Napoleon moaned with delight as he leaned back, gasping slightly at Illya's kisses on his neck.

“Let me know if it hurts,” Illya whispered into Napoleon's skin.

“You could almost pull it off and I'd love it,” Napoleon hissed into his ear as Illya sped up, tugging harder and harder. Napoleon pushed a hand along Illya's shirt and down over his pants, fumbling with the zipper as Illya rearranged position slightly to accommodate him. Normally he'd have a smart remark to make, but his mouth was too busy enjoying Illya's lips. 

The warmth of their bodies and hurried passion sent Napoleon to a place of bliss and he closed his eyes as he came in Illya's hand. Illya slowed his jerking and kept kissing him.

“Napoleon?” Illya frowned as Napoleon lay still, his breathing slow and even. He looked down under the blanket at his own erection and sighed, “I shall have to take matters into my own hands, it seems.”

 

Several hours later, Illya woke and listened to the wind rushing through the trees. The rain seemed to have died down, so huddling into his coat and shoes, he crept to the door and opened it enough to slip outside. He looked up at the now clear sky and marvelled at a display of aurorae. As he took out his communicator, he watched an elegant green curtain fold and shimmer next to Serpens Caput, and a diffuse rose pink blush in front of Ophiuchus.

Speaking quietly, he asked for the usual Channel D and scowled at the answering static. He looked up at the trees, wondering if he should climb up one to see if he could get better reception. 

“Fool, wanting to climb trees in the middle of the night, you'll break your neck, and where would Napoleon be, then?” Illya chided himself. 

The forest was dense and dark, and Illya pondered the possibility that the only access to the cabin, apart from a very long hike through that forest, was from the river. Daylight would provide more clarity to the situation, he surmised, and retuned to the cabin.

Adding more wood to the stove, Illya warmed himself by it, deep in thought, before judging himself warm enough not to disturb Napoleon too much when he returned to the bed. He carefully lay beside Napoleon and lay listening to him breathe.

 

The shaking of the bed woke Illya and he turned slightly, thinking that Napoleon was trying to get up. Napoleon's breathing was laboured as he fidgeted in his sleep. Illya placed a hand on his forehead, disturbed to find it so warm. Sliding back out the bed, he took his handkerchief and dabbed some whiskey on it, then placed it on Napoleon's forehead. Napoleon settled and murmured softly in his sleep as Illya watched him. It'd be daylight soon, more chance of rescue, Illya reassured himself.

Napoleon's eyes fluttered open, closed, then opened again. “Still here, huh?”

Illya looked up from re-dressing Napoleon's wound, “I'm sorry, I didn't mean to wake you.”

Napoleon closed his eyes and raised a hand to his head, rasping, “Illya, the room's not spinning, it's me, right?”

“You have a fever,” Illya placed the whiskey-soaked handkerchief over Napoleon's forehead again. “I'll try and call for help again.”

Napoleon opened an eye as Illya patted his arm and switched on his communicator. He sighed and shut his eye as static poured from the communicator. The pen fell onto his chest as he passed out, a soft moan escaping his lips.

“I won't give up, Napoleon,” Illya spoke with quiet conviction as he stroked Napoleon's forehead, hiding his concern. “I'll look about outside and see if there's anything to see.”

 

As he trudged outside, clasping his arms across his body to keep out the cold, Illya peered into the morning fog. The end of the jetty was hidden in the gloom and his footsteps were muted as he paced the ground. As he began to turn around, he heard steps and suddenly he was pushed against the woodpile, pinned down by a large, vicious-looking dog. 

Illya stared up at the dog, grimacing at its hot breath and tried to inch away from it. The dog snarled, low and threatening and Illya froze, listening to approaching footsteps. He glanced over as a grizzled old man slowly walked up, a shotgun cocked and ready.

“I reckon you'll be wanting to explain what you're doing here in your skinny little suit and hair, son,” the man drawled.

“Sir, my friend and I crashed our plane and had to seek refuge in your cabin. He's injured and needs medical attention as soon as possible. Will you help us, please?” Illya carefully replied.

The man looked around. “Your plane, huh?”

“We crashed in the lake. I really must impress how urgent this is, sir. Please,” Illya pleaded.

“You sound like you're not from around here. You're friend's a Ruskie, too?” The man jerked his head at the cabin. “Got something diabolical planned, boy?”

“Sir, my friend is a loyal American, and I only have the best intentions. Please help him,” Illya shot a nervous glance at the dog as it licked its chops.

The man gave a short whistle and the dog took a few paces back. “Get up, slowly.”

Illya obeyed and the man jerked the gun, so Illya slowly walked to the cabin, arms raised. He stopped at the door and stood back as the man looked inside. 

The man walked inside and prodded Napoleon. “Deep sleeper, eh?”

Illya flinched at the flippant remark. “He has a serious leg wound and now a fever. We work for an international organization that protects you and every citizen. I implore you to please help.” Illya weighed the possibility of rushing him, but the presence of that dog chilled him.

The man watched Illya coolly. “Do I get a reward?”

“I'm sure we can arrange something, sir,” Illya replied, looking with dread at Napoleon's pale features.

“Also, you owe me for the soup and booze. Go on.” The man lowered his gun and let Illya move to the bed.

Illya collected Napoleon's gun and communicator, then gently picked up his unconscious partner in a fireman's carry. 

The man took the blankets and draped them over Napoleon. “You'll owe me for the blankets, too.” 

“Anything, sir,” Illya muttered as he hurried out the door as carefully as he could.

“Boat's on the jetty. You owe me for repairs, too.”

“Yes, of course,” Illya wondered if the man would charge for the plane damaging the lake, too.

 

Napoleon woke to find himself in a hospital bed, a welcome sight. An even more welcome sight was Illya sprawled asleep in a chair by the window. He watched his friend slowly stir, wake up and smile at him, eyes shining with relief.

Napoleon reached out his hand and Illya clasped it in his. “Everything okay?”

“Everything's okay,” Illya said. “Well, U.N.C.L.E. Accounts and Expenses might be a little put out.”

Napoleon shut his eyes again. “That's fascinating.”

“You're being sarcastic,” Illya nodded sagely.

“Smart Russian. When I wake up you can tell me more about those ice floes,” Napoleon replied, voice thick with fatigue.

“With pleasure, Napoleon,” Illya whispered as he kissed him.

~ The End.


End file.
